I am sixty-one years old and I spent four hours today pretending that my life hasn't completely fallen apart. We were at the weekly playgroup at Miller Park—the one where all the parents go with their organic snacks and their $800 strollers. I’m the oldest guy there by at least twenty years. Most of them think I’m the grandfather, and I usually don’t bother correcting them anymore because the truth is too much to explain. I have to stand there with a smile plastered on my face, talking about the weather and local school districts, while my back is screaming and my bank account is sitting at forty-two dollars. Reasons I have to go to the park every Tuesday: 1. Leo needs to see other kids so he doesn't end up weird like me 2. If I stay in the house any longer I’ll start talking to the walls 3. I need to pretend to the neighbors that I have a NORMAL life 4. It’s the only thing on my calendar that doesn't involve a screen or a delivery app Leo was in a state today. He found this yellow plastic digger in the communal toy bin and it was like he’d found the Holy Grail. He wouldn't let anyone near it. Not even close. When a little girl named Chloe tried to pick up a shovel NEAR him, he lost it. He didn’t just cry—he did that stiff-as-a-board back-arching thing and let out a roar that probably shook the birds out of the trees. And I’m standing there, trying to be the PATIENT father, the WISE father, while everyone else is watching us with that polite, horrified look. I felt like a total failure. I was talking to Chloe’s mom, Sarah, at the time. She’s young enough to be my daughter. She was telling me about her "stressful" week at some tech firm while I nodded and smiled and said things like "Oh, I remember those days" and "It gets easier, don't worry." TOTAL LIES. I don’t remember those days because my days are spent wondering how I’m going to pay the electric bill with three different freelance apps that treat me like a number. I had to keep the conversation LIGHT and CHIPPER while I watched Leo shove Chloe away from the digger. I wanted to yell. I wanted to tell him to just BE NICE for once so I didn’t look like such a loser in front of these people. The worst part is the legacy stuff. I look at Leo and I realize I have NOTHING to leave him. My house is a rental. My car is twelve years old and the transmission is starting to slip. I spent thirty years in an office just to end up doing DoorDash and Upwork at sixty-one.